


Emperor and Mage

by purple_bookcover



Series: Knight and Squire [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash February, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Edelgard is going to free Fodlan from its shackles, but she doesn't know who she can trust to stay at her side. She starts her year at the Officers Academy feeling out her new allies, trying to suss out who is strong enough to stand with her. What she never expects is Dorothea, and the feelings she develops for the woman.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Series: Knight and Squire [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1525064
Comments: 20
Kudos: 48





	1. Budding Alliances

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1 and 4 are not explicit, but chapters 2 and 3 are. 
> 
> This story takes place in parallel to [Knight and Squire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711285/chapters/49199699). **If you have NOT read that story, YOU DO NOT NEED TO.** This story can stand alone. 
> 
> **If you HAVE read that story,** here is the spoiler breakdown:  
> \- Chapter 1: No spoilers  
> \- Chapter 2: Some spoilers for Chapter 5 onward of Knight and Squire 1  
> \- Chapter 3: Some spoilers for Chapter 4 of [Knight and Squire 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198629/chapters/50462273)  
> \- Chapter 4: Significant spoilers for Chapters 4-6 of Knight and Squire 2
> 
> The spoilers don't ruin the story of Knight and Squire. You just won't be surprised by the reveals in those chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard arrives at the Officers Academy and makes some allies.

Edelgard watched students filter into the Black Eagles classroom. She could feel Hubert glowering beside her, weighing each student's worth as they chatted, excited children in a new school. 

Edelgard observed more kindly, perhaps, though she, too, measured each in turn. 

Linhardt was already asleep. Caspar nudged him to no avail. Bernadetta cowered under a desk while Ferdinand paraded around like a prized horse. Petra was perhaps the most competent of the bunch, but it remained to be seen if she nurtured a grudge against the Empire. Edelgard could not fault her for such feelings—they were not so different from her own, ultimately—but it would make her an unreliable ally. 

And Dorothea. No matter where in the classroom Edelgard looked, she could not locate the final member of her house.

Then she heard a laugh from outside the classroom. 

“Oh, Claude, that's simply too much,” Dorothea said, her hand fluttering over a pretty blush. 

Claude smirked, setting his hands on his hips. “It's true, though. Every word.”

Dorothea patted his arm. “Well, you'll certainly be one to watch this year, then.” 

Claude ran a hand through his hair, his smirk widening to a grin. “You don't say.”

Edelgard rolled her eyes. She could count out Dorothea. As for the rest of them, well... Ferdinand had already challenged her to a duel. Caspar was trying to fight Linhardt's father for some reason. And Bernadetta seemed intent on never emerging from beneath the desk where she hid. 

Edelgard sighed. Quite the crew she found herself commanding. She looked up to the shadow beside her. Hubert quirked an eyebrow, a movement so slight anyone else may have missed it. Edelgard shook her head in reply. His perpetual glower deepened. 

They'd always known the mission before them would be difficult. Perhaps Edelgard had been too optimistic, thinking the ragtag bunch of students she'd encounter at the academy could prove useful. But without hope, without reckless optimism, there would be no purpose to achieving her goal.

Even so, by the time Professor Hanneman arrived, Edelgard felt crushed under the task this school year promised to bring.

#

“The enemy is approaching,” a soldier shouted. “They can't be avoided.”

“It looks like our mission just changed, Professor Hanneman,” Catherine said. “Everyone, prepare for battle!”

Just like that, they stood on a battlefield, a real battlefield. Not the pale facsimile they'd practiced on. Not a dusty road beleaguered by a couple bandits. 

Edelgard hefted her axe. This would be the first test of many. It was time to see who could stand beside her.

The enemy turned out to be little better than bandits, however. Half of Lord Lonato's militia consisted of villagers who wielded their swords and spears like hoes and rakes. They stood their ground admirably, Edelgard would grant them that, but they offered no real resistance, not even against untested students. 

Edelgard scanned the battlefield. Hubert chanted under his breath, carving a path in bright flashes of black and purple that burned scars onto the soil. Ferdinand pranced about the scrimmage, though when it came time to fight his lance was swift and cruel and true. Even Bernadetta was doing her part, her arrows flying with deadly accuracy despite her cringing apologies after every shot. 

A blaze of gold flashed past Edelgard. Thunderbrand Catherine herself, cutting a vicious path through townsfolk who were probably holding a real weapon for the first time in their lives. She afforded them no mercy, flying through their ranks in a fury, barreling toward Lord Lonato himself, possessed by her bloodlust. 

Edelgard was not near enough to hear what Catherine said to Lonato, but she could see the hate on the old man's face, the bitterness, the despair. She could taste the hopeless rage in his war cry as he kicked his horse toward her for a doomed charge. She could hear the spite in his scream as he died. 

Later, Catherine congratulated them. So did Hanneman. So did the strange new professor Lady Rhea was singularly obsessed with. So did nearly every student and teacher and knight they came across when they returned to the Officers Academy. 

Victorious. 

Or so they said. 

One boy stood apart, pale and shaking as his professor explained what had taken place in Gaspard. Edelgard recognized him, vaguely, a meek little archer in Dimitri's class. He looked even smaller now, his whole body shaking, his face bloodless, his eyes wide and blinking far, far too often, fluttering. 

Cruelly, Edelgard thought there might be potential lurking there. This boy, when he recovered, if he recovered, might be worth pursuing, depending on how his heart hardened. 

But that was just the voice of necessity coldly commanding her. Beneath it, she was still human. She still saw the boy's pain, understood that the loss would hit him suddenly, then slowly, in waves, over and over. It would take time, much time, before she could, or should, approach. 

One of his classmates, the gloomy Fraldarius heir, touched his shoulder. That was all. A pat on the shoulder. No one else attempted to comfort him. 

“It's so sad,” she heard beside her. 

Edelgard found Dorothea at her side, watching the scene unfolding across the courtyard. In the months since they'd arrived at the academy, Dorothea had shown a surprising magical prowess, different from Hubert but no less potent for that. If she could be convinced, molded, strengthened, she might just be the type of ally Edelgard would need. 

“We did what we had to,” Edelgard said. 

“Oh, I know,” Dorothea said. “But...” She trailed off, seeming to catch herself. 

“But?” Edelgard pushed.

Dorothea rang her hands. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I dare not say this in front of Ashe, but... did we really need to do what we did today?” 

Ashe, that must have been the boy now openly weeping, covering his face as he hurried away. “Hm,” Edelgard said. “How do you mean?” 

“It's just...” Dorothea fidgeted beside her. “Those soldiers weren't soldiers. They were barely trained, if they were trained at all. And Lonato, what did he really do but demand answers about his son?”

“He rebelled against the church.”

“Wouldn't you rebel against the people who killed your child?” 

Edelgard bit back a smile. “Perhaps. But it is still treason.”

Dorothea shook her head. “Treason against what? Against whom? Rhea? This just doesn't make sense. Why would he send Ashe here if he meant to rebel?” 

“He must have made his decision after.”

“Three months? Three months to change your mind and rebel against the entire church? No.” 

There was a hardness in that single word, a finality. It struck Edelgard like beat tapping inside her, a drum rumbling a deep, final note. 

“You may be right,” she said.

Hubert caught her eyes across the courtyard, the question plain on his face. Edelgard allowed a slight smile to emerge, to seep in at the corners, a subtle thing, but she knew her most trusted friend would see it.

His eyebrow quirked, a motion as loud as a thunderclap, for Edelgard. She could not fault him. If she'd been the betting type, she would not have bet on Dorothea. Not before today.

#

“We must not let that new professor win,” Hanneman grumbled. He rubbed his chin, seeming oblivious to the class of students around him. “Why does Rhea favor them so? Their crest... If only I could study it in more depth.”

Only Linhardt seemed to be paying Hanneman any mind. Edelgard herself was happy to concede every pointless competition to the new professor and their class of Blue Lions. Such things would make no difference in the end. 

But apparently her classmates disagreed. Even while Hanneman and Linhardt pondered the strange professor's mysterious crest, the rest of the Black Eagles debated the crux of the matter.

“We should have Bernie do it,” Caspar said. “No one would see that coming. Element of surprise!” 

Bernadetta flushed so red Edelgard wondered how there was any blood left in the rest of her body. “M-m-m-me? I c-c-c-couldn't p-p-possibly.” 

“That is a dreadful plan,” Ferdinand cut in. “We need someone with courtly manners, someone who understands the finer etiquette of dancing. It is not merely a set of memorized movements. Now, myself, I have had extensive training in--”

“You?” Caspar cut in. “No way. We'll never win by choosing some stuffy aristocrat.” 

Edelgard ignored them as they bickered, her attention drawn instead by the silent shadow at her side. Hubert stood at her shoulder, as ever, yet his gaze was not upon her. He watched Ferdinand, his eyes unfocused as though Hubert was already witnessing Ferdinand dancing in the White Heron Cup, bright and glittering. 

Well, that was something.

He blinked, catching her studying him, and the barest whisper of color stole into his pale cheeks. Edelgard raised an eyebrow and he cleared his throat, staring straight ahead. 

She smothered her smirk. It wouldn't do to antagonize the only person she could fully, truly trust in this world. Still, they would need to have words later. If this got out of hand, if it distracted him from his duty, she would squash it as brutally as she'd squash it in herself. 

“I'll do it.” 

Everyone looked to Dorothea when her voice rose above the din. 

“I mean...” she said more quietly, “I certainly have the training for it.”

“I thought you were in the opera?” Edelgard said. She was surprised to herself speak.

“We did not only train our voices,” Dorothea said. “We also trained our bodies. I... I am a fair dancer.” 

“Yes, see, that's what I'm talking about,” Caspar said. “We need someone with some _charisma_. Someone who can woo the judges. Dorothy is perfect.” 

Ferdinand snorted, crossing his arms. 

“I must have agreement,” Petra said. “Dorothea would be quite... majestic. Is this the appropriate word?” 

Dorothea stepped in to help Petra, but Edelgard had stopped listening. Now, it was her mind wandering, her mind involuntarily calling up images of a bright and glittering dancer dressed in flowing, gauzy silk and jangling with gold jewelry, her hair a tumble of auburn tresses fluttering around her as Dorothea twirled and writhed, her body so elegant, so graceful, like a fighter on a battlefield. 

Hubert cleared his throat. Edelgard jolted from her thoughts. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow, but she refused to acknowledge it.

“Very well,” Edelgard said, summoning as much authority as she could muster. “Dorothea, you will represent us at the White Heron Cup.” 

Dorothea's smile was as bright as the bangles and gold in Edelgard's reverie. “Oh, Edie, thank you! I'll make the Black Eagle house proud.” 

_Edie._ When had she become “Edie” and not “Edelgard?” When had she allowed anyone to start using a nickname for her? And yet... 

“I'm sure you will,” Edelgard said. “If you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to, if we're quite done here.” 

Hanneman could not be bothered to notice or care about the conversation, deep into some surely horrifying thought experiment with Linhardt by now, so Edelgard gave the rest of her house a nod and left.

Hubert was fast on her trail. When they'd gone a safe distance from the classroom, he said, “Lady Edelgard. Stop. We must speak.”

Edelgard's chest tightened, but she squared her shoulders and faced him. “Whatever about, Hubert?”

“My lady,” he said. The simple moniker carried all the weight of what had transpired in their classroom, all the weight of their mutual failures. 

“It is nothing,” Edelgard said. “As I am sure you would agree.” 

He did not even bother looking ashamed. “We must be cautious,” Hubert said. “It is... it is only natural. We are human, after all, but we must not get distracted. I trust... I trust that if I was overcome, that if I let my humanity supersede my better instincts, you would correct me. And I would do the same for you.”

She took a step closer, falling under his long, lean shadow, the place where she'd always felt safest, the place where she'd always felt most herself. She lowered her voice, though they were alone. “It will be difficult, won't it, learning who among these children we can truly trust? It may be terribly painful, when all is revealed.” 

She saw him swallow, but he kept his expression steady. “Perhaps. But we will remain steadfast. No matter how our hearts might betray us.”

“We will,” she said. 

And just like that, a cold stole over her heart, a protective shield of ice.

#

Edelgard was not sure when it happened, or why, or how, but soon she came to expect Dorothea's tap at her door nearly as often as she expected Hubert's. Sometimes Dorothea's knock was a short little beat, a clip of a tune. At such times, Dorothea often entered humming, twirling about as she came to land on Edelgard's bed and launched into a tale of her latest crush's dashing spar.

At other times, the tap was a single beat, staccato and timid. And then Edelgard would open not just the door but also her arms, letting Dorothea sink into her embrace and dampen her shoulder as she described another man's betrayal. 

Edelgard wasn't sure when it became normal. It certainly wasn't part of the plan. 

And yet, when the tap came, soft and hollow, she answered, opening her arms, pulling Dorothea in before the tears came. 

“Fucking liar,” Dorothea moaned against her shoulder. “He said he didn't think we were dating, but his other girlfriend sure believes we were.” 

“Oh Dorothy,” Edelgard said. 

She wanted to ask why Dorothea dashed herself against these useless men, these feckless children. They would never appreciate Dorothea's mastery of thoron. They would never watch in awe as she blasted through heavily armored rows of knights to flatten an enemy's defense. They had never heard the cold steel in her voice, the brave doubt, the courageously whispered questions: _Did we really need to do what we did today?_

They would never know the power of those words. 

But Edelgard saw. Edelgard knew. And so she helped Dorothea to her bed, sat them both down on the mattress so she could stroke Dorothea's hair while she cried over a boy who didn't have the sense to treasure the jewel he'd so briefly held. 

She'd lost track of how many times she'd done this. Some day, she swore, all those pathetic boys would suffer for their ignorance, for the flippant way they used and dismissed a gem they had no business even beholding. 

“Edie?” Dorothea was in her lap now, resting against her thighs while Edelgard pet her hair. 

“Yes?” 

“What's wrong with me?” Dorothea said. 

Something blocked Edelgard's throat, preventing her from responding. She forced it down. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Then why do they keep doing this?”

“Because they are weak,” Edelgard said. 

Dorothea pushed up onto her hands. Her face was very close now, so close Edelgard could see the wetness glimmering on her cheeks. 

“You always let me cry on you like this,” Dorothea said. 

“Yes,” Edelgard said. She fought to hold her ground, resisted backing away. She could smell the flower petals Dorothea tucked into her uniform when she had a date, the soap she used in her hair, the powdered makeup on her face. 

“You aren't weak,” Dorothea said. 

“I'm not,” Edelgard said. She tucked Dorothea's hair behind her ear. “And neither are you.” 

Dorothea laughed, short and bitter. “Well, that clearly isn't true.” 

Edelgard grasped her by the chin, gently forcing her to sit up more. “Do not say that.” 

“Why not?” Dorothea said. “You've seen up close what a disaster I am.” 

“No,” Edelgard said, so sharply Dorothea blinked and pulled away, sitting up fully beside her. “What I have seen is someone who is one of my most trusted allies on the battlefield. Someone who is thoughtful, who considers what is not as easily seen or guessed, someone who can comprehend the bigger picture.”

“Bigger picture? Edie... I don't...”

Edelgard swallowed. She hadn't planned for this conversation to happen now, but now was as good a time as any. She would have to speak to all of them eventually, had already discussed what was coming with a few. 

So then why did the thought of talking with Dorothea make her heart slam against her chest like it was trying to escape? Why did it leave her palms sweaty and her throat dry? 

_Hubert, you may need to hold me to my word sooner than we thought._

Edelgard drew herself up. “You said it yourself, something about this place doesn't make sense.”

Dorothea blinked, her eyes scanning like she was searching for something. “I said that?”

“Lonato.”

Dorothea started. “Goddess, Edie, that was so long ago. I completely forgot.”

“Do you still feel the same, though?”

Dorothea did not reply immediately and Edelgard felt her blood go cold. She clenched her jaw as she waited for what seemed entire lifetimes. 

_You can not shield them from the truth forever,_ Hubert said in her mind. _You will soon discover who is truly worthy of your cause._

She knew he was right, she _knew_ that, but it didn't make actually testing her allies, her... her friends, any easier. 

“I do,” Dorothea said.

Now it was Edelgard who startled. “What?”

Dorothea's face had hardened, her mouth a thin line, her lovely eyes slightly narrowed. “I do still feel the same. Something...” She lowered her voice. “Something is not right here.”

Edelgard's heart beat against her throat. She shoved it down. The battle was not yet won. She reached, trying to still the quivering in her fingers as she took Dorothea's hand in hers. “I have so much I must tell you. Will you listen?”

“Yes,” Dorothea said, gripping her hand in return. 

They talked all night, falling asleep hand in hand, holding to each other as they faced the enormity of the battles yet to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	2. The Battle of Enbarr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is marching on Enbarr. Edelgard rallies her forces to defend the stronghold of the empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains E-rated sex and violence. 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS for the chapter named "The Battle of Enbarr" in [Knight and Squire 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711285/chapters/49199699).

War had a way of changing things.

It changed the Officers Academy, reducing the storied institution to a pile of rubble. It changed Dimitri, who'd seemed more beast than man the last time they'd met him on a battlefield. 

Dorothea conceded that it had probably even changed her, though she'd tried to shield her heart from the worst of the horrors.

That was hard to do when she recognized the faces on the other side of the battle lines. 

Raphael had never had a chance. But perhaps he'd known that as he set Ignatz' limp body aside and roared, charging at her with eyes blanked by rage and tears. 

Her magic passed through his heavy armor like it was paper and still he'd lumbered on, spitting out a cough of blood, raising his axe, stumbling toward Dorothea. She'd had no choice but to lift her hand again, chant another spell and watch as it ripped the fury out of his face, leaving it empty. He'd collapsed at her feet like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

“You did what was necessary,” Edelgard told her later, tucking her hair behind her ear, stroking her face while she shook. 

“I was too late,” Dorothea said. “Bernie. Ignatz got Bernie before I could reach her.” 

“I know,” Edelgard said. “She died bravely. It will not be in vain.” 

The fire in Edelgard's bed chamber crackled. It splashed ghastly shadows against the gauze draped around her bed, red gauze dancing like the flames in the hearth. The sheets were red. The curtains over the windows. The silky shift Edelgard wore. All red. 

Edelgard drew Dorothea to her mouth. Her kiss was firm. It was always firm. Firm and sure and decisive. But tender, for all that, as though Edelgard was drawing the hurt out of Dorothea and into herself. _I'm strong enough to carry it for both of us,_ she seemed to say. Or perhaps that was merely the fantasy Dorothea had built around this woman as the war dragged on around them. 

It didn't matter. In war, nothing was real, each moment made surreal by some new horror. She'd known what she was choosing when she chose Edelgard, known it was her heart leading her as much as her mind. 

“Are you OK?” Edelgard said, brushing her hand against Dorothea's face. 

Dorothea caught that hand, leaning into the touch. “I am now,” she said. 

Edelgard kissed her again, pulling her close, falling back until Dorothea perched over her. The emperor was a riot of contrasts: silky smooth thighs, hands roughened by hefting a great axe, voice cool and calming, eyes burning with ambition. It might have been too much for some, but Dorothea reveled in it, luxuriated in the whiplash of going from smooth to rough, cool to burning. It fluttered in her stomach and ignited her blood in a way battle never could. 

Dorothea did away with the shift. Edelgard allowed her this, allowed Dorothea to undress her, to gaze down at her, to watch the firelight play over the exposed expanse of hard muscle and jubilant curves that no one else witnessed. No one but Dorothea. 

She reached a hand to one of Edelgard's breasts as her other hand mapped the sway curling from ribs to hips. Dorothea sucked on the nipple in her hand, plucking gently with her teeth. Edelgard hissed, grabbing at Dorothea's hair. She rocked her hips up against Dorothea, their bodies meeting at odd angles, groping for purchase against each other. 

“Dorothy,” she sighed, a name she only she used when they were alone like this.

Dorothea sat up, grasping Edelgard's hips. The flushed, panting woman below her was more magnificent than any goddess. Dorothea lowered her head with reverence, her tongue searching for a place it knew well, so well. The sweetness it found was no less intoxicating for all that, however. 

Edelgard let out a gasp as Dorothea's tongue prodded at her clit, her lips. Dorothea knew the places that would draw out true music, but she waited, patient, needing this to last, needing it to replace the taste of leather and iron that suffused battlefields. In place of screams, there were now soft moans, repeated whispers of her name. In place of limp bodies, there were clutching hands, squeezing thighs. In place of empty, dead eyes staring up in shock, there was the look of lust and adoration that met Dorothea when she gazed up the beautiful curl of Edelgard's body to meet her eyes.

“You're cruel,” Edelgard said, smirking even as she panted. 

And perhaps Dorothea was, now. Here. She liked to think she hadn't been overly cruel to Raphael, though. Or Ignatz. 

Dorothea dove back down, losing herself among the strong, sweet taste of her emperor as she sucked at her clit, driving her tongue between soft folds that made Edelgard whimper and buck. 

Dorothea popped a finger in her own mouth, but she found she hardly needed it when she pressed at Edelgard's entrance. She slid in easily, testing a single digit first before adding a second. Edelgard sighed, clamping around Dorothea's fingers now that she had what she'd been waiting so impatiently for. 

“Dorothy,” she moaned. 

Dorothea started pumping her fingers, bringing her head up so she could watch as Edelgard responded. It was a lovely sight. Her body rolled, her nipples hard atop the swell of her breasts. Edelgard closed her eyes when Dorothea added the third finger. The emperor gripped her red sheets, opening her mouth in a silent gasp. Her silver hair splayed around her like armor cast aside, sheets of steel tossed heedlessly away to expose the softness of the body beneath. 

Edelgard looked up long enough to grasp at Dorothea's hair, yanking her down to her mouth. As she came on Dorothea's hand, her mouth pressed against Dorothea's, her cry whimpered directly into Dorothea's throat. 

Dorothea removed her fingers carefully as Edelgard relaxed back onto the bed, rosy and breathless. She hugged herself, curling her body around the final throes of pleasure washing through her. 

How different it was from throes of pain, from arms clutched around a body wracked with agony. Similar, Dorothea had to admit, but different in the ways that mattered. 

Edelgard smiled when she reopened her eyes. She sat up, drawing Dorothea to her for a softer kiss. 

Edelgard brought Dorothea's hand up to her mouth, licking her own taste off Dorothea's fingers. Dorothea bit her lip as she watched, Edelgard's eyes fixed on her as she teased the songstress. 

Edelgard guided Dorothea onto her back, straddling her hips. Dorothea lay limp beneath her. She thought she could stay this way, Edelgard in her lap, pinning her to the bed, commanding her. She wouldn't mind remaining at this woman's mercy for all eternity. 

“I'm going to make you sing for me,” Edelgard said. 

Then she hunched forward, nipping at Dorothea's neck, flicking her tongue out at her earlobe, tugging with her teeth. The marks Edelgard left as she trailed down Dorothea's neck to her collar meant more than any badge Dorothea might earn in battle. They were precious, like individual snowflakes pressed into her skin, each beautiful in a slightly different way. 

Edelgard remained at her throat, licking and sucking, even as her hand wandered down. She palmed at Dorothea's cunt, bringing her knee up to add to the pressure. Dorothea ground against her hand, clinging to Edelgard's arms. 

“That's right,” Edelgard rasped. “I want to hear you.”

Dorothea couldn't have disobeyed even if she'd wanted to. Her voice emerged of its own volition. She sang in Edelgard's hold, a sweet, sad, desperate song, a song soured and twisted by death and war, a song made all the more beautiful by the tenderness she often retreated to in the aftermath of battle. 

And Edelgard could be tender. Few might believe it, but Dorothea knew. She knew, when Edelgard swirled a finger around her pussy, when she pressed inside, when she curled the digit to draw out Dorothea's voice. She knew when Edelgard kissed the marks she'd left, when she rasped her name in the dark, when she told her over and over that she was beautiful, perfect. 

She knew when they lay together afterward, neither speaking of the things that had thrown them into each other's arms, neither eliciting the horrors they were there to sooth away with lips and tongues and hands. 

Edelgard tucked Dorothea's hair behind her ear. “You are so lovely,” she said. She ran her fingers along Dorothea's face as though discovering it anew, mapping every curve to her fingertips. 

Dorothea curled against Edelgard, resting her head against her breasts, holding her close until she fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

#

Dimitri approached.

There'd been battles. This bridge. That town or city. Back and forth, each side ceding as much territory as it claimed. Each side losing people along the way. So far, they'd been fortunate, if Dorothea could call watching Bernadetta die “fortunate.” But it might have been worse, far, far worse. 

No matter how successfully Edelgard ventured into Fodlan, Dimitri stubbornly held on to Garreg Mach and most of Faerghus. It was desperate, his threat to push directly toward Enbarr. Desperate and mad. But then, it was Dimitri. He and his rabid lions had rarely been other than mad. 

“They cannot hope to take the city,” Hubert said. He stood behind Edelgard rather than sitting like the rest of them, her constant shadow, unwilling to leave her side even for this. 

“It is absurd,” Ferdinand said. Hubert's eyes instantly snapped to the man. In another life, Dorothea might have smiled at him, might have reveled in the unlikely softness Ferdinand had managed to draw out of Hubert. 

“Are you positive he's on the march?” Ferdinand said, a question only he could get away with asking. 

“Yes,” Hubert said. “My spies' reports are all in agreement. He means to siege the city. Soon.”

Edelgard raised her head. That small motion was all it took to draw every eye to her and silence all other conversation. “Very well,” she said. “We shall meet him.”

“Emperor,” Ferdinand said.

“Seriously?” Caspar choked.

Linhardt grew deathly pale. 

“We knew this day would come,” Edelgard said. “It is inevitable. I trust none of you thought Dimitri would decide to forget his grudge and leave us in peace?” 

“I hoped...” Linhardt grumbled under his breath. He ducked his head when Hubert glared in his direction.

Edelgard rose from her chair, setting her palms on the table. She fixed each of her generals in turn, her eyes like flames. When she reached Dorothea, she smiled, just barely. If Dorothea did not know those lips so well, she might have missed it. 

“Dimitri will come here,” Edelgard said. “We've always known this. It is, perhaps, sooner than we might have hoped, but that's no matter. We are stronger, both in our fighting prowess and our convictions. The mad boar and his reckless sycophants will not topple our ambitions so easily.”

Caspar grinned, his chest swelling. Hubert glowed with pride at his lady's speech. Even Ferdinand and Linhardt looked heartened. 

“Petra,” Edelgard said. “I want you to return to Brigid.” 

Petra cocked her head. “But I ought to be fighting beside you.” 

“I would like nothing more,” Edelgard said, “but right now, we must think of the future. I promised you that Brigid would no longer be a vassal. Now, I will fulfill that promise. Return to your people. Prepare them for the end of the kingdom and the ascension of my empire.” 

Dorothea could see Petra's jaw clenching as a riot of emotion passed over her face. She stood, bowing to Edelgard. 

“I will,” Petra said. “I will tell them. We are ready for our freedom.”

“I know, my friend,” Edelgard said. “It has been denied you too long. Brigid will stand proud when I am emperor.” 

“We stand proud already, friend,” Petra said. “The world will see Brigid's pride.” 

Edelgard nodded and Petra spun on her heel, wasting no time, hurrying from the meeting room. Dorothea swallowed as she watched her go. One of their strongest warriors, dismissed before the battle. Either Edelgard was supremely confident or she knew something Dorothea did not. 

As Dorothea gazed at her emperor, now discussing the finer points of the battle to come, she could not decide which.

#

Blue banners flapped on the horizon, snapping in the warm winds of the south. Dorothea stood beside Edelgard on a balcony in Enbarr's imperial palace. 

“Well, step-brother, you really came,” Edelgard mused. 

Dorothea took her hand. “He will not reach you.”

“I know,” Edelgard said. “But perhaps it is better if he does. He and I should be the ones to end this.” 

Dorothea shuddered. Despite the ballistas set up throughout the city, despite the high walls and the army mounted atop them, she felt horribly exposed as she eyed that thread of blue beyond the gates. 

“Go,” Edelgard said. “We have work to do.” 

Dorothea disobeyed, but only for a moment, leaning over to steal a kiss before she left Edelgard's side. She made her way through the city, now armored and outfitted for battle, to a ballista where other mages gathered. They would defend the eastern side of the city should anyone, or anything, break through the main gates. 

The other mages looked to Dorothea when she arrived. She was supposed to reassure them, command them, but just then she had no idea what to say. Instead, she checked their armor, made the lieutenants talk her through their preparations and plans one last time, ensured everything was in order. There was nothing more she could do. Not for them. Not for herself.

She did not see the battle begin. She was too far away and the walls were too high. But suddenly there were arrows and bolts of magic soaring over them, landing with crashes and screams. 

Dorothea let a trickle of magic play about her fingers. It was awful just to wait, knowing her comrades were out there. Knowing Ferdinand and Caspar were on the front lines, knowing Edelgard was likely getting closer to the battle than she should, hefting her axe, adding her body to the fray. 

Blue. 

Her soldiers reacted before Dorothea did, setting a bolt loose from the ballista. The mages gathered up their magic, reloading the machinery to lob another crackling projectile of purple and black at Dimitri's soldiers. 

“They've breached the gates.”

The shout rippled through Edelgard's army. Dorothea felt her blood go cold. That shouldn't have happened. That shouldn't have been possible. It should have taken days for Dimitri to get inside. How had he done it in hours? What had become of Caspar and Ferdinand? 

“Keep firing,” Dorothea commanded. 

Then she ran, abandoning her post, knowing it was dangerous and treacherous but rushing anyway. 

She found fire and death. 

Enbarr was burning. Soldiers clad in blue were pushing ever farther up the stone streets, cutting down Edelgard's army. How were there so many? Who were they? Where had Dimitri rallied such forces? And the ballistas, what had happened to the ballistas? Why weren't they firing, mowing down the intruders? 

Then she saw him, Ashe, galloping through the city, taking out anyone trying to work a ballista with deadly accuracy, firing so rapidly he had another arrow in his hand almost before the previous one had killed its target.

Dorothea turned back to her ballista, just barely close enough to scream to them. “The archer. The archer in blue. Take him out. Now.” 

Their attention swung. It felt awful, jabbing her finger at Ashe, ordering his death. Once, they were friends. Once, they'd bonded over growing up orphans, over experiences no one else in the world could truly understand and appreciate. Now, he was just an enemy and she was screaming for his death. 

“Dorothea.”

Ferdinand skidded up on his warhorse, his hair like fire glowing around him. 

“You have to go,” Ferdinand said. “The front lines are being pushed back. Retreat to the palace.”

“Ferdie...”

“Go,” he shouted.

With that, he charged into the fray. Dorothea stood frozen for a moment. Ashe was still picking off soldiers fleeing from ballistas. Flashes of blue crackled as Felix cut through enemies, swift and graceful as a striking snake. Ingrid soared overhead, her lance deadly every time she descended.

Ferdinand rode into that storm, his lance held high, shouting as he swept through soldiers. Dorothea saw Caspar farther ahead, swinging his axe in wide arcs as enemies closed in on every side. 

Ferdinand would not reach him in time.

When Dorothea finally turned away, she saw Linhardt ahead, flinging feckless trails of white magic in the general direction of Ferdinand and Caspar. His lips moved as he chanted. His eyes were wide and empty. 

Dorothea grabbed his wrist as she passed. He resisted. 

“We have to go,” Dorothea said. “We have to get to the palace.”

“No,” Linhardt said, jerking in her hold. “No!” 

She yanked, but he fought against her the entire way. She was stronger than him. More importantly, she was determined not to watch him die. Not to watch any of them die. 

Linhardt kept looking back as she dragged him. And, at some point, he went utterly limp. 

Dorothea did not ask why. She did not loosen her grip when his body went slack, when his chanting turned from spells to prayers, when tears slipped from his gaping eyes. 

She spared a glance for her battalion, still back at the ballista as she'd ordered. She saw a few of them go down. They kept firing, however, even as Ashe bore down on them. Then, finally, their magic found the archer and he, too, fell. 

Dorothea turned away. It didn't feel like a victory, watching Ashe die. It didn't feel like anything but another death heaped on a pile of pointless deaths. 

She didn't turn when she heard a shout behind her, or even when magic crackled in the air. Felix, perhaps? Flames spare them, but he sounded mad with rage, sounded like a wild animal barreling toward them, even more crazed than Dimitri. 

They reached the palace. Dorothea went directly to the throne room, where she found the only two allies she had left in the dying city: Edelgard and, at her shoulder, Hubert. 

“So, it is only you?” Edelgard said. 

Dorothea released Linhardt, who sank to the floor. “I think so,” she said. 

Pain and grief twisted Edelgard's face. Her jaw clenched and unclenched. Hubert set a hand on her shoulder and only then did Dorothea realize that he, too, was torn raw, his lean face locked up tight around the pain trying to break through.

“I'm sorry,” Dorothea said. “I... I tried. They all tried.” 

“I know,” Edelgard said. “It will not be in vain.” 

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, “surely you do not mean...”

She smiled over at her oldest friend, reaching up to squeeze his hand on her shoulder. “It is the only option left.”

“But...”

“Go,” she said. “All of you. Live. Petra is still out there. There is still hope.” 

“I won't,” Dorothea and Hubert said at once.

Edelgard smiled. She removed Hubert's hand from her shoulder, stepping down the dais to approach Dorothea. She held Dorothea's head in her hands, pressing their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Edelgard said. “I never would have known I could love so deeply, so truly, if it hadn't been for you.”

Dorothea didn't realize she was crying until she attempted to speak. “Edie, please, please don't talk like that. We can still win.”

“No,” she said. “Not today, at least.”

“Then come with me. Please. Run with me. There is still time.”

Even as she spoke, the doors to the palace shuddered. Screams echoed through the halls. 

“The battle has come,” Edelgard said. “It is time I face him. Please, my love, obey this final order. Leave. Survive. Find Petra, if you have nowhere else to go. Live.”

“How can I, without you?” Dorothea said. 

Edelgard smiled, kissing the dampness off Dorothea's cheeks. She kissed her mouth next, lingering as though trying to seal that moment against her mouth. 

It was cold when Edelgard backed away. “Go now,” she said.

She did not wait for Dorothea to argue. She turned to Hubert, striding back to the dais. “Do you have it?”

“Yes,” Hubert said. 

“Linhardt,” Edelgard snapped. “Take her.” 

All of a sudden, Linhardt had her hand. There was a pop, a crackle of magic, a space of utter nothingness, and suddenly they were just outside the throne room, looking in from a side hallway usually only used by servants. 

Dimitri rushed in before Dorothea could try to get back to Edelgard. Hubert faced him, fending him off as long as he could. And behind him, Edelgard changed.

She howled as her body contorted, twisted and deformed by magic. What emerged was not Edelgard, was not a woman at all, but a misshapen beast, towering taller than any man, claws replacing appendages, eyes wild as a beast's. 

Dimitri did not even pause. He cut down Hubert, rushing right at Edelgard. She nearly battled him back, her powerful, clawed arms swiping across his black armor. But then Dedue was there, charging at her from the side. Annette blasted Edelgard with magic from the opposite side. 

The emperor could not fend off the dual attack. Dedue and Annette managed to break her defenses, distract her attempts at batting back either one of them. Dimitri's Areadbhar found its target.

Edelgard's howl was unnatural, unholy, when Dimitri's spear pierced her torso. The entire palace reverberated with it, the ceilings shaking, the floors quivering, the walls echoing her final cry. 

Dorothea jerked. Linhardt yanked on her wrist, keeping her from rushing out into the throne room. Her teeth clattered against each other. Her whole body shook like the crumbling palace around her. 

Then Dimitri wrenched his spear free. Edelgard collapsed to the tiles, convulsing as she bled mere steps from her throne. 

His laugh was horrible, a mad cackle that cracked against the high ceiling, reverberating throughout the entire palace. 

His rabid lions joined him, congratulating each other, gathering in the throne room. All except one. 

Dorothea saw Felix search for Ashe, saw his eyes widen with realization and horror, saw his jaw go tight, his back go rigid, his knuckles go white as he clutched his fists. Blood splattered his clothing and dripped down his sword, the blood of her comrades. The blood of Ferdinand and Caspar and so many other people she'd loved. 

Then his scream joined Dimitri's, ragged and raw, broken by grief. She did not ache for his suffering, as she might have once. As Felix went on shrieking for his lost comrade, Dorothea sneered. He deserved pain. He and all the other rabid lions. After all they'd taken, after all the pain they'd gleefully inflicted, they deserved nothing but pain in return.

Dorothea turned away from Felix's cries and Dimitri's laughter. She left the palace with Linhardt. 

She did not look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Magic jade dildo. See if I'm lying. I dare you.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	3. Brigid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard is gone, but her dream has not died. Not as long as Petra and Dorothea have anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched historically accurate dildos for this chapter. You're welcome.
> 
> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR EVERYTHING UP TO CHAPTER 4 OF [KNIGHT AND SQUIRE 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198629/chapters/50462273) (my long Ashelix fic). If you don't care, rock on. If you do care, avoid.

Advisors flanked Petra as she strode through the fortress. The tiles beneath her feet fanned out in a swirling pattern, a tribute to the god of craftsmen laid out in the intricate loops splashed through the hall. The pattern seeped up the walls in straight lines that cut toward the vaulted ceiling. The sconces were crescents honoring the god of fire. The ceiling was triangular peaks for the god of stone. 

Petra muttered her thanks as she walked. Her native tongue flowed smoothly out of her mouth, music to wash away the harsh taste of Fodlan's sharp speech.

According to some, she'd returned to Brigid with a bit of an accent, but six months among her people had melted it away. 

“My queen,” the man at the door said. He bowed before pushing open double doors inlaid with a scene of gods rising from the earth to bless the people of Brigid. 

Petra stepped into a room like so many she'd seen in the past seven years. A long room with a long table, serious-looking people seated all around, going quiet at the sound of Petra and her advisors entering. 

Petra paced around the table, coming to stand at its head. Every eye in the room focused on the queen of Brigid, finally returned from Fodlan after living as a captive for so long. 

At least her time had not been in vain. She'd met Edelgard, after all. She'd discovered a path forward for Brigid, a path that led to freedom, that removed the shackles of vassalage. 

Edelgard was dead, but Petra clung to that dream.

Petra sat in a chair with a carved wooden back that towered over her. “How are the preparations going?” 

A woman with cropped black hair stood. She was broad and tall. Muscle corded down her arms from the simple motion of setting her hands on the table to hunch forward as she spoke. “My queen, everything is in place. The troops are ready to march the moment you give the order. We have secured the vessels required for the crossing. Furthermore, we have facilities and safe houses on the other side ready to receive us.”

Petra nodded and the general sat. “And what of the other side? How will they welcome us?” 

She looked to a thin, lanky man. Though his head was clean-shaven, he reminded her of Hubert when he smiled. 

“My queen,” he said, “all my spies tell me the south of Fodlan is not merely ready for us, they are eager. They seek their liberation.” 

Petra smothered a smile. Edelgard would be proud, she thought, proud to see the work she'd started continuing still. Proud that Petra was strong enough to carry it on. Proud that she intended to hold Edelgard to her word even in death. 

“Has the king responded?” Petra said. The king. She nearly spat. Dimitri was no true king.

Her spymaster sneered. “He attempts to, but it is feckless,” he said. “They've executed a 'traitor' here or there, but it has not hindered our efforts. The rebellion grows. It is too strong for Dimitri to stomp out.”

“Good,” Petra said. “He means to rule all of Fodlan. He must be shown the hubris and greed of his excesses.” 

Several of the generals around the table nodded and smiled at this; some muttered thanks to their gods and their queen. 

“I require a full report,” Petra said. 

She sat back, waiting as each general around the table rose in turn. They spoke at length about the amount of grain needed for the water crossing, the weight each vessel could carry, the number of horses who could tolerate the journey, the amount of food and soldiers and swords required. They spoke of the preparations on the other side, of the towns that would be eager to host and aid them, of the weather they could encounter on the sea or the land, of the best time of the year to travel. 

Each was brutally meticulous, just as Petra had ordered. She would leave no moment to chance, would allow no random disorder to disrupt her plot. It was far too important for that. 

Finally, they finished. Petra stood to address them.

“The time is near,” she said. She fixed them each in turn as she spoke, seeing her own resolve echoed in their eyes. “We have waited many, many years for this, suffered through broken promises and dashed hopes. This time, Brigid's fate is in its people's hands. Remain vigilant, remain obsessively meticulous, leave no detail to the whims of happenstance. Brigid returns to its people.” 

She slammed a fist down to punctuate this last statement, the beat echoed by the cry of her generals. A short, sharp war cry. Not a cheer, for the road ahead was long and difficult and stained with the blood of their brethren. No, it was a cry of resolve issued between gritted teeth, a cry of determination, a cry for freedom.

Petra would deliver that freedom to them. No matter what it cost.

With a final nod, she left the meeting room, leaving her generals to discuss further details as they wished. She'd see the reports later, if anything came of the talks. They were making good progress on their plans, but there was still much to do, much to secure. The insurrection and chaos they were sowing in the south of Fodlan would be their best shield and defense when they crossed, but if Dimitri started cracking down on it their task would become far more difficult. 

Dimitri. 

Petra had heard of what he'd been like in those final, awful moments in the throne room. No more human than the half-sister he'd slaughtered, according to the tales. And his rabid band of lions covered in blood and screaming as well. They'd only lost one, the archer, but that had been enough to throw them into a mindless rage. Imagine if they'd had to suffer as Brigid had? 

Petra snorted a bitter laugh. Weak, sad little lions. More like frothing dogs. 

She dismissed her advisors at the door to her bed chamber. 

“We'll meet later to discuss the stores,” Petra said. “I'll take a short reprieve now.”

They both bowed from the waist with muttered expressions of, “Yes, my queen,” before they left.

Petra exhaled before entering her chambers, summoning up her scattered memory of Fodlan's fumbling tongue. Switching back and forth was difficult, but ultimately good. She needed a reason to remember the language before they crossed the water. 

When she opened her door, she saw Dorothea standing by the window. The songstress had practically imprinted her feet into the floorboards before the window since arriving in Brigid, always standing there gazing out with those sad, empty eyes as the sunlight washed over her pale skin.

Dorothea startled when Petra closed the door. 

With the light from the window framing her, Dorothea was a pale shadow. Dark circles dulled her clear green eyes. Her auburn tresses had lost their buoyant curls, hanging limp and lank. Her hands clasped nervously over her waist, fingers fidgeting. 

“How did it go?” she asked. It's what she always asked when Petra returned from a meeting or strategy session or anything at all. 

“Well,” Petra said. 

“Will they be ready?” Dorothea said. “Are the preparations going well?” 

Petra crossed the room to stand beside her. She brushed Dorothea's hair over her shoulder. “Allow me to ... do the hair.” Why was there no simple way of stating anything in Fodlan's tongue? 

Dorothea nodded. She sat on a padded stool beside the window, still gazing outward, her eyes far away. 

This, too, was a ritual. Petra retrieved her brush and gathered Dorothea's hair down her back. She pulled the bristles gently through Dorothea's hair, smoothing it, tending it in a way Dorothea had started neglecting. 

“Teach me more words,” Dorothea said.

Petra smiled. It felt nice, stepping away from being queen for a moment, stepping away from responsibility, from endless questions, from war. Comforting this strange friend she'd made in Fodlan, bonding with a woman who found herself as lost as Petra had once felt in a land of strangers. 

She spoke in her own language. Just simple words and phrases, but Dorothea was picking them up quickly. She answered, fumbling, heavily accented, but she mostly understood Petra as she spoke, only asking for clarification a couple times as Petra told a story she'd heard as a child. 

It was a story of a boy who'd gotten lost in the woods during a hunt. The gods, seeing his predicament, took pity on him and guided him, or tried to. At first, the boy rejected all the signs and messages they sent. Only when he opened himself to aid did he find his way home.

Petra wondered when Dorothea herself might be open to the guidance she so clearly needed. True, she'd fled to Brigid after escaping Enbarr (“Linhardt left,” she'd said. “Warped away the instant we were out of the city. I have no idea where.”). But ever since arriving in Brigid, Dorothea seemed little better than a shell, a husk. The hurt chasing her every step, lurking in her shadow, never let her rest.

Even now, with Petra combing through her hair, occasionally weaving her fingers through the silky tresses, Dorothea appeared to take little pleasure in the attention. 

Petra set the brush aside, getting her hands into those waves of auburn, smoothing down the hairs, running her fingers from Dorothea's scalp to her shoulders, then rubbing out along her smooth skin. Her shoulders were bare, exposed by a dress that clung to her chest and waist before softening the rest of the way down. Despite her paleness, Petra had always thought her lovely, like a bird twittering nervously in cupped hands, bright and beautiful and singing, but oh so nervous, oh so ready to flit away at the first sing of danger. 

Dorothea reached up suddenly, taking Petra by the wrist, pulling her down. There, she hesitated, though Petra could hear her breaths coming fast, could see the swell of her breasts peeking from the top of her dress. 

They hung there, frozen, anticipating what came next. It had become a routine, a necessity. The moment they would soon share released them from more than just their bodies. It lifted the weights upon their shoulders, celebrated the memories of the lost, cloaked the pain in joy. 

Dorothea reached for it first, keeping Petra's wrist as she rose from the seat. She drew Petra around it, cupping her face in her hands, stroking Petra's cheeks. Her eyes searched for something. Petra did not know what, but she presumed Dorothea did not find it. Even so, Dorothea leaned down, pressing cold lips to Petra's. Always cold. 

Petra tried to press heat into those lips, and though Dorothea sighed and opened her mouth wider, Petra failed to reach past that chilly barrier. 

Dorothea raised a hand. A trickle of magic danced between her fingers. “I want to use it,” she said in Petra's language. 

Petra smiled, taking her hand, leading her toward the bed. She sat Dorothea down at the edge of the raised mattress before reaching beneath the frame and pulling out a wooden box. Within the box, she found an oblong object wrapped in a cloth. Dorothea grinned, removing the cloth, exposing an intricately crafted dildo. Swirls of jade ornamented the bronze toy, giving it a speckled appearance like the dappled floor of a sunlit forest. 

Dorothea ran her hand up and down the toy, muttering as her fingers traced the green-black shaft. Purple trickled from her hands and coiled around the dildo. Even as Petra watched, it softened in Dorothea's hand, remaining mostly rigid but gaining an unnatural pliancy. 

Petra liked to imagine that Dorothea's goddess would disapprove of this use of her white magic, would balk at this expression of healing. Dorothea had discovered that the same magic that could stitch up a wound could shift the essence of metal and jade, infuse them with unnatural softness, take them apart and stitch them back together in a slightly different way, like sealing up a cut. In Petra's mind, it was a blessing, an expression of reverence for the materials that made up the world. But Dorothea seemed to regard it more grimly and Petra hated her goddess all the more for it. 

Dorothea offered the dildo back to Petra. One end was more bulbous than the other and this was the side Petra now coated in oil. 

“Come here,” Dorothea said. “I'll help.”

Petra stepped forward and Dorothea took her by the hips, tugging at the laces of her breeches as she knelt before her. Dorothea ran her hands over Petra's ass as she slipped pants and undergarments down. She parted the soft tuft between Petra's legs before bringing her mouth to her clit, licking slowly, starting patiently. Her fingers aided, tracing along Petra's pussy, feeling the wetness at her entrance increase. 

Petra got her fingers back in Dorothea's hair, petting her as she worked. She was so lovely. So lovely and so sad. Petra wished she could heal Dorothea as Dorothea had healed her so many times, but she had nothing but her body to offer. 

Fortunately, her body responded eagerly to Dorothea. Petra heard her breaths turn ragged as Dorothea's mouth pressed more eagerly against her. Her pussy ached, throbbing for more, and she gently moved Dorothea away.

“I'm ready,” Petra said. 

“Me too,” Dorothea said. 

Dorothea stood to slide her dress down, exposing her perky breasts, the sway of her waist, her long legs dusted with auburn. Petra burned hotter just looking at her. She positioned the dildo, feeling the bulge against her entrance. Eager though she was, it still felt large and she eased it in carefully. Dorothea watched, gnawing at her lips.

Petra paused, letting her body adjust to the softened dildo inside her, eyeing the freckled, jade cock jutting from her body. She stroked it, coating it in oil as she'd coated the other end. She could feel Dorothea's eyes tracing every movement. 

Petra stepped up to the other woman. The dildo pressed between them as Petra reached up to kiss her. Petra shifted her hips and Dorothea groaned into her mouth, the toy rubbing against her. 

She clutched Petra, pulling her down on top of her as they tumbled to the bed. Dorothea spread her legs, her thighs on either side of Petra, squeezing, urging. 

Petra complied, gripping the dildo to position it. Dorothea was wet and eager and, aided further by the oil, the dildo nudged inside. Dorothea moaned as Petra entered her. 

Petra reveled in the stillness that followed, in the beat of their breaths quickening in anticipation. The magic that flowed through the dildo did more than soften it; it conferred sensation from one woman to the other. It was a lucky coincidence, an unintended consequence, but as Petra moved she felt the sensation of not just the end inside her, but also the end in Dorothea, the end she rocked slowly and carefully. 

Dorothea clenched, her thighs pressing against Petra's sides. 

“More,” Dorothea gasped.

Petra increased her pace, thrusting harder, rolling her hips until Dorothea whined in pleasure. Petra hunched forward, her purple-pink hair spilling past her shoulders as she arched over Dorothea. A moment later she felt Dorothea's hands in her hair, tugging, urging and, just once, yanking so hard Petra gasped. 

“Sorry,” Dorothea said.

“No,” Petra said. “Again.”

And Dorothea pulled, sending a sweet jolt of a pain, of desperate need, shivering through Petra's body. Petra moaned at the unhindered want she felt in that tug and collapsed down. Her breasts pressed against Dorothea's. Dorothea wrapped her arms around Petra, her nails prickling Petra's back. 

They writhed together, their hips swelling in unison as they worked the toy they shared. Dorothea's hands clawed at Petra, biting sweetly into her skin. The spaces where their bodies met grew slick. Their legs tangled. Petra's forehead was against Dorothea's chest. She nipped at the soft skin she found beneath her lips and Dorothea gave a yelp. 

They needed the pain alongside their pleasure. They needed to bite and claw and scrape, to scratch at whatever they could reach, to cry out their bitterness and despair. It was a release that went beyond the physical one building in Petra's body. 

Dorothea's hands tightened, her nails digging, dancing along the edge of too much, an edge all the more blissful for the threat it carried. Then Dorothea shuddered and moaned, a high, broken song that snapped against Petra's heart. Petra joined her, sighing more quietly, not reaching the heights Dorothea apparently had, but quivering with release nonetheless. 

For a moment, they remained entangled around each other, the dildo still inside them. Dorothea stroked Petra's back as though trying to sooth the crescent moon marks she'd left there. Petra kissed at the bruise she'd left on Dorothea's collar in return. 

“I'm sorry if I hurt you,” Dorothea said.

Petra rose up to smile at her. “You cannot harm me.”

“I hope not,” Dorothea said.

Petra stroked her cheek. “You harm yourself, I am thinking. But you do not harm me.” 

Dorothea's eyes slid away at that. Petra eased back, removing the dildo from both of them, cleaning it off, wrapping it in its cloth before setting it in its box and hiding it away.

When she returned to the bed, Dorothea was curled on her side. Petra slid up behind her, kissing her shoulder, laying a hand on her hip. 

“Is it almost time?” Dorothea said. 

“Almost,” Petra promised. “Do not be too eager.”

“I know,” Dorothea said. “But I can't help it. I want...” 

Petra felt her tense, heard the heat behind her unspoken words. Such hatred, such rage. Petra feared the fire that raged within this woman and what it might do to her. 

“We will go when it is time,” Petra said. “We will take Fodlan from him.”

“Not just Fodlan,” Dorothea said. “Everything. He will lose everything he loves. Every last fucking thing.”

Petra did not respond this time, just held Dorothea against her, trying to cool her rage with kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, aside from the magic, that dildo is actually real. I do NOT advise using a jade dildo now, as they are rather porous. But, there are very, very old examples of [jade and bronze dildos and butt plugs](https://www.iflscience.com/editors-blog/bronze-dildos-and-jade-butt-plugs-show-life-and-death-in-ancient-china/) that may have been used during the Han Dynasty. How fucking cool is that?
> 
> Also... that's in my search history forever now. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


	4. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea returns to Fodlan to complete Edelgard's work. She encounters old enemies and old grudges along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! It may seem like an odd, incomplete ending. This is where this story intersects with [Knight and Squire 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198629/chapters/50462273). I am not going to continue this after this point because it would be super redundant. 
> 
> SPOILERS: Pretty massive spoilers for Knight and Squire 2, chapters 4-6.

Dorothea stepped hesitantly onto the shore of Fodlan. She paused, her feet sinking into the sand where the row boat lay beached. 

A hand landed on her shoulder. Petra squeezed. “Are you well?” 

Dorothea mulled that over as she appraised the cliffside splashed in red by the rising sun. Beyond that rocky crag lay the south of Fodlan, the former Empire, Enbarr. And beyond that, Garreg Mach, the former Alliance, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. 

No, she decided, she was pretty fucking far from “well.” 

But she was here. With Petra. With an army. Just as Edelgard had asked. 

Petra knew well enough not to wait any longer for a response. With a final pat, the queen of Brigid moved on, organizing her troops, ensuring their landing in Fodlan was proceeding in orderly fashion. 

They were strong, these troops from Brigid who had waited so long and so patiently. Hopefully, the rebellions they'd stoked would turn out to be fruitful. Everything hinged on that, hinged on the welcome they received when they left this desolate shore and ventured into the mainland. Either way, there was no turning back now.

Dorothea took a few tentative steps across the sand. “Edie,” she said, “I'm back.”

#

The man hanged in the town square was not the welcome they'd been anticipating.

Petra and Dorothea entered the town with a few of her most trusted retainers and guards. The bulk of their party waited outside it, though, melting into the hillsides like fog burning away in the rising sun.

Petra stopped the party before the corpse at the center of town. Even in the fragile, fractured light of dawn, Dorothea could see he wore blue.

Eventually, they dragged the mayor from her home. The woman was bleary and skeptical until she recognized Petra's clothing and tattoos. 

“What happened here?” Petra said.

The mayor stammered, blinking sleep from her eyes. “He … he arrived with demands.”

“So you killed him?” Dorothea said.

The woman's eyes shifted between Petra and Dorothea; she seemed undecided about whom she feared more. 

“He wanted taxes,” the mayor said. 

“Kings generally do,” Dorothea said dryly. 

“He was going to report back to Fhirdiad about the insurrection,” the mayor said. “We'd be labeled part of the rebellion. He would have returned with an entire battalion.”

“And what do you imagine will happen now?” Dorothea said. She felt a buzz of magic along her fingers ignited by her temper. The mayor's eyes darted toward her hands. 

“I … we were only...”

Dorothea turned to Petra. “Dimitri won't let this go unanswered. The moment he hears of this his troops will be marching this way, if they aren't already.”

“I know,” Petra said. But it was not concern Dorothea found on her face. 

“What are you thinking?” Dorothea switched to Petra's language, clumsy as she still was with the tongue. The mayor's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Dorothea didn't care. If the woman wanted their help, she'd have to set her bigotry aside.

Petra fixed Dorothea with her eyes. “I think this is an opportunity.”

Petra looked back to the body hanging in the town square. Dorothea could smell it from where they stood, putrid and rotting. Flies and worse buzzed around it. Birds had long ago plucked out the eyes and started at the flesh. 

“How long has that been there?” Petra said, addressing the mayor.

“Some days, now.”

“And you have not thought to remove it?” 

“We...”

Petra put her back to the mayor, facing Dorothea and the rest of her retinue. “We cannot know when, or if, Dimitri has gotten word of this, but have no doubt that he will march, if he is not marching already. We must be ready to meet him.”

Dorothea swallowed. Hardly a day spent in Fodlan and already they were back at war. 

“Gods willing, he does not yet realize we're here,” Petra went on. “This may well present us an opportunity.” 

Her guards and generals nodded solemnly. 

“Go,” Petra said. “Prepare your people.” 

They bowed as they excused themselves, then it was only Dorothea and the mayor left with Petra. 

“What … what did you say to them?” the mayor said.

Petra smiled unpleasantly. “To prepare for the battle to come.”

#

It arrived sooner than they expected, but that was just as well, in Dorothea's mind. The days of preparing, plotting, waiting stretched interminably. Dorothea spent her days training the fledgling mages among Brigid's troops; she spent her nights in Petra's tent, finding comfort at her side.

Dimitri's troops arrived as a pale blue haze upon the horizon, like mist crawling over the distant hills. The landscape was open, rolling hills melding into sparse copses of spindly trees hardy enough for the heat.

Even so, Petra's people found places to hide, the crooks between two hillsides, the shadows beneath a cluster of foliage. It wasn't much, but, ultimately, it proved to be enough.

They waited until the blue-clad battalion meandered between two hills, then they flooded out, sweeping in from either side to pinch Dimitri's soldiers between them. 

They never stood a chance.

Dorothea did what she had to. It might have reminded her of past battles, of all those fights she'd endured while trying to remake the world according to Edelgard's ideals. But no, it was different from that. This wasn't a strategic point. This wasn't a battle for a bridge or a city or a stronghold. It was just an ambush. 

A statement. 

By the time the battalion limped away--those who could limp away--the hills were covered in carnage. 

“Should we chase?” Dorothea said. 

“Yes,” Petra said, “but a few must survive.” She raised her voice, shouting for all her soldiers to hear, using Fodlan's language to intimidate her foes as she ordered their deaths. “We are pursuing them now. We are finding any who ran.”

Dorothea understood why Petra had first ordered that some be allowed to escape. Those soldiers would straggle back to Fhirdiad, tell the harrowing tale, recount the strength of the force they'd encountered. In all likelihood, they'd make Petra's soldiers sound even more fearsome and numerous than they actually were in their desperation to save face. Dimitri would be forced to take them seriously. And the second war would begin.

A man rode up to Petra, offering salutes and formalities before speaking. “We found stragglers at the rear of the battle.”

“More soldiers?” Petra said.

“No,” he said. “They appear to be … travelers.”

“You hesitated,” Petra said. 

“Yes, my queen. It's just … well, they look like ordinary travelers. But one of them is armed. Well-armed. And … my lady, I have no definite proof, but if he's not a fighting man I've never met one.” 

Dorothea and Petra shared a glance. Petra called for her horse, swinging up into the saddle even as she ordered, “Take me to them.”

She rode off, following the messenger. Dorothea didn't bother with a horse before running after them. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Something about this felt wrong, so incredibly, incredibly wrong. It prickled at her, urged her on. She saw Petra dip behind a hill. She could just make out her purple hair as Petra pulled up on her horse, leveling a spear at someone Dorothea couldn't see.

Dorothea pushed harder, ran faster. And then, she crested the hill and looked down at a trio of travelers facing Petra.

“We aren't fighting for Dimitri,” a man with silver hair said. 

Dorothea froze, her blood going cold. She didn't hear how Petra responded, incapable of taking her eyes off the ghost standing there before her. 

Ashe. Ashe Ubert. Who should have been dead alongside so many others in Enbarr. And with him, Annette. And Felix.

Dorothea's entire body went rigid. How were they here? How were they all alive? How, when she had lost everything, _everything_ , back in Enbarr was Felix Fraldarius standing here alive and well with Ashe at his side? 

She recalled his broken screams in the throne room, his rage, his grief. Her chest tightened. She'd been unable to scream, then. Her own grief would have drawn his attention, would probably have ended with his sword shoved through her heart. Yet he hadn't even suffered long. His companion was back, apparently whole and hardy, while hers … while Edelgard … was still gone.

Dorothea strode down the hillside in a daze, hardly aware her body was moving. Her hand went to her hip. She felt the comforting weight of the knife's hilt against her palm as she drew the weapon. 

“The war is over,” Ashe said.

Petra smiled. “Is that so?”

“Edelgard is dead,” Felix said.

Dorothea pressed the knife to his back. 

He went rigid. Petra's eyes flickered to Dorothea. 

“No, Dorothea,” Petra said.

She sneered as she unclenched her teeth. How good it would feel to drive that knife through him, slow and horrible, giving him a new reason to scream. How sweet it would be to give the rabid beast what he deserved. 

She met Petra's eyes, now narrowed at her. With a disgusted noise, she withdrew the knife.

“It's beasts like him who killed her,” Dorothea said.

“I did not kill your emperor,” Felix said.

“You helped.” Dorothea could not restrain the bite in her words, could not hold back the heat behind them. “Don't pretend your hands aren't the bloodiest ones here, Felix Fraldarius. Why aren't you up north playing duke and slaughtering more people?” 

He did not respond, but his shoulders ticked. Dorothea's sneer twisted. She'd hit a nerve.

“Well,” Petra said. “Answer. Why are you here, _Duke_ Fraldarius?”

“I have no title,” Felix said between gritted teeth. 

Well, wasn't that interesting?

Mirth--no less genuine for its malice--slipped into her sneer. “My, my.” She sheathed her knife, stepping around him, sizing him up. He looked like a vagabond, dirty, haggard, hungry and wild. A far cry from the spoiled noble she'd known so long ago. “No title. No banner. No home. What exactly have we caught in our net here, hm?”

He didn't answer, but his eyes started to dart around. He was counting the soldiers around him, measuring the odds. Dorothea let a trickle of magic play between her fingers. Oh, how she'd love to see him try it. 

But surely even he must understand how desperate it'd be. 

Then his eyes slid to Ashe. 

Ah. Yes. He knew exactly how stupid an attack would be. But he wasn't trying to ensure his own survival. He was judging if his death could free his lover. Dorothea nearly laughed.

“I think we have our answer.” 

She stepped close to Felix, so close she could take his chin in her hand, lean close to his ear, speak directly into it. “Never took you for the sentimental type, Felix.” 

He jerked away, but his eyes went right back to Ashe. The bumbling moron. Could he be any more obvious about his affections? 

His hand strayed to his hilt. Dorothea was sure that crest of his was screaming inside him, begging to be set loose. But she was equally sure that nothing would come of it.

Ashe caught his wrist. Felix instantly softened, his hand relaxing. 

Dorothea finally let out the laugh waiting behind her teeth. “Oh my, well, won't this be easy?” She looked to Petra behind her on the horse.

“Yes, I think we will be having some talking,” Petra said. 

Petra waved and soldiers swept in. Dorothea hopped up onto Petra's horse while the soldiers took Felix's weapons and tied his hands behind his back. She could hear him struggling, attempting to fight back, but she didn't care. She slipped her hands around Petra's waist, kissing at her shoulder. 

“This was a very successful battle,” Dorothea said. 

“So it appears,” Petra said. 

She said no more until they reached their camp, hidden from the road and established days ahead of the skirmish. Petra swung to the ground, tossing her reins to a waiting attendant, then helped Dorothea down. 

When they made it to the quiet of Petra's tent, the queen immediately started removing her armor. She sat on her cot, kicking off her shoes. 

But Dorothea was restless. She remained standing, folding her arms. 

“What?” Petra finally said.

“What are you going to do with them?” Dorothea said.

Petra tilted her head to one side. “What would you do?”

“Kill them.” The answer arrived so quickly it surprised even Dorothea. But she did not regret it. “At least Felix. He's a rabid dog. The sooner he's put down, the better.”

“Hm.” Petra leaned back on her hands, peering up at Dorothea. 

Dorothea settled on the bed beside her. “You disagree.” 

Petra nodded. “I have no want of extra killing.”

“It's not extra,” Dorothea said. “He's a beast. No better than a wild animal. He's probably plotting some way of burning this entire camp to the ground right now.” 

Petra shrugged. “I do not have fear of him.” 

“Maybe you should.”

“Do you think I cannot best him?”

“No,” Dorothea said. “It's not that. It's more that you're different from him. You have principles. You're trying to do the right thing. He's a dog, a feral cur. He'll kill anyone to get what he wants.”

“But what is it that he wants?”

Dorothea paused at that. She remembered those looks toward Ashe, the way his eyes had darted around, calculating the odds against him. 

But that wasn't Felix. It couldn't be. Felix cared only for himself, only cared for killing. Whatever this thing with Ashe was, it was a ruse of some sort. 

“I don't know,” she admitted. 

“That is why I must not kill them.”

“What will you do instead then?”

“I will speak with them,” Petra said. “Not today. They must have days of … of understanding our strength. Understanding they are weak. Then, I will speak.”

“He won't listen. He'll never listen. Let me help you. I can force him to talk. I can drag it out of him.”

“No,” Petra said. “That is not my way.”

“But--”

Petra put up a hand. “Annette. She I will speak to. Women have more reason.” 

“Petra, you don't understand how dangerous this is. You don't understand what he'll do, what he's like. He could destroy all our hopes of freeing Brigid.”

“I do not have concern.” She reached up, stroking Dorothea's face. “And you must not either. Trust me.”

Dorothea did not respond. Petra pulled her down, kissing her, guiding her back onto the cot. They spoke no more of their new prisoners. 

But Dorothea did not forget. Even as she lay in Petra's arms that night, feeling the queen's breaths against her back, she held tight to the seed of her own plan, a plan she could launch without disrupting any of Petra's. 

She would not kill Felix Fraldarius. Not yet. But she would use him. 

He owed her at least that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are curious about where this story goes, or what happened to get Ashe, Felix and Annette into the predicament they're in, I recommend [Knight and Squire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20711285/chapters/49199699), which is the story I drew all this from.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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